


Chicken Soup for the Stubburn Soul

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-07-03
Updated: 2004-07-03
Packaged: 2018-12-27 01:44:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12071121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: A little chicken soup goes a long way.





	Chicken Soup for the Stubburn Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

It’s amazing how everyone seems to think that chicken soup will cure all the ales you. I mean, think about it: you’re home from school, sick in bed, and what does your mother bring you (assuming she’s not a twat like mine)? Chicken soup. Go ahead, go through the list of aliments you have stored away in your head: head cold, the flu, sore throat. They all lead to the same thing: Chicken soup, chicken soup, chicken soup. 

So it shouldn’t have been a surprise to me when Mikey showed up at my door wanting to fix me a pot of the good ol’ miracle cure. But I couldn’t help that I thought the idea was preposterous. For fucks sake, I wasn’t some 10-year-old with a cough, I had fucking cancer. Some noodles and broth wasn’t going to fix that. So after he railed at me for being an asshole I told him to get the fuck out, all the while slightly craving for a little soup, which just made me even more pissed.

And then Justin…God…fucking Justin…is waiting with a bowl of the stuff when I get home early from work. Christ, I thought my not-so-gentle shove would’ve been enough to keep him away, but the little shit is persistent. As the scent of the familiar broth hits my nostrils and his blond head comes into my line of vision, I know this is the last straw. So me being Brian Kinney, never being able to do anything quietly, start yelling at him. Halfway through our little argument I realize that I’m not yelling at Justin, I’m yelling at the soup. The pretentious soup that thinks it can fix everything. Doesn’t it know that I have cancer and I just want to die? This thought catches and stays in my mind, knocking me off balance. Well, and I guess it doesn’t help that Justin shoves me. I lie on the floor for a few seconds, blocking out Justin’s voice, still thinking about the soup. It’s heavenly scent is filling my loft; I won’t be able to get the smell out for weeks. It’s tempting me, trying to seduce me. But I won’t let it win so easily. So again taking my rage at the soup out on Justin I spring to my feet and try my best to sound convinced of what I’m saying. Then Justin’s sudden anger strikes me silent. I feel myself being attacked from both fronts: Justin yelling in front of me and the soup mocking me from behind.

Finally, silently, I give in and obey Justin’s command to “get my ass in bed” and concede my defeat to the delectable substance that is making its way to bed via Justin. Hell, why continue the fight? It’s the only fucking thing I can keep down anyways and Justin did use his somewhat valuable time to make it. So as I sit here, eating my chicken soup, I am comforted by the thought that it’s not the soup itself that is going to make me feel better, but rather the idea of it.


End file.
